From Mild to Hot
18 and over.
One by one, the stories in this collection shift from playful banter to sticky, torrid heat. But romance may not always be as it seems. Happy endings are subjective, and love comes with a frisson of ice. So, buckle up, and take nothing for granted.
In the kitchen for fun dialogue that stays cool as a cucumber? Try these two:
DOUBLE YOUR FUN
An inept but horny burglar. A naked dominatrix. A bedroom. What could possibly go wrong?
SERVED
She’s watching him. He’s watching her friend. Can she give him his just desserts?
Or, prefer a flaming grill with no holds barred? Then stick around for the finale with heatwaves.
POKER FACE
A new bride on her honeymoon tries to break her husband’s poker addiction.
OFFSIDE
He’s in love with his friend’s wife. A football game will decide if he can score.
Excerpt
(From "Served")
“I’m sorry but you’ll have to —”
With that, he thrust the towel at me, turning his back even before he’d finished his sentence. There was some kind of half mumble, which sounded very much like a bout of French cursing. He offered no further assistance. There was no attempt to make a pass and certainly no rising of stunned dark eyes to reveal the elemental evidence of lust glittering there.
Rosie, it seemed, had been right. And also wrong. My crush was indeed gay. And my breasts were not out of this world.
The other more obvious theory—that I was not the one who drew his attention—was something on which I preferred not to dwell. But I decided two could play at that game. I swivelled away from him, peeling my top over my head in swift but dignified fury. The sniffling sound of wet sticky material sounded tearily in the awkward silence.
After a moment like this, back-to-back and with a good amount of vigorous rubbing on my part, I muttered, “Now I don’t have anything to wear. But no doubt you can fashion me a top out of one of your fancy napkins...”
“I wish I could. Really. But I will of course reimburse you for the cost.”
How could a London waiter speak in such a formal stuffed-shirt way? At which point I remembered Rosie’s background research and answered my own question. I turned back to him, almost tempted to quote a price from a certain South Kensington High Street store. Yet one look at that gentle, knightly expression and I couldn’t do it.
Nevertheless, I did manage a prim “Thank you,” before he gave a sigh and started unbuttoning his shirt. But as he moved downwards, all thoughts of Harrods immediately fled my mind.